


It's Cold In This Bed

by darkandstormyslash



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Plot, Prostitution, Rimming, Sex, Sex Toys, blowjob, finished work, handjob, smut chapters are labelled, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:50:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7494477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandstormyslash/pseuds/darkandstormyslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30-year old Arthur takes in a homeless stray from the streets, a cold and bruised looking 18-year old Eames. Arthur assumes Eames is an innocent homeless lad out in the cold. Eames assumes Arthur is a dull accountant looking for a prostitute. They are both spectacularly wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tweed-and-paisley (NuclearGers)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearGers/gifts).



> This is based on the spectacular art by http://tweed-and-paisley.tumblr.com/ - who did a cute little 18-year old Eames in a big blue jumper. It went probably far more angsty and plot-filled in my head than it was meant to.
> 
> Each chapter has an Arthur half and an Eames half. And honestly, if the style of one of them annoys you, you can probably just read the one of them and follow the story through.

**Arthur**

As soon as he steps through the door Arthur starts to regret it. This is a stupid idea, an incredibly stupid idea, and he has no idea why he’s still going through with it.

He steps through and lets the boy in. As expected he’s dumbstruck. Looks around the house with wide eyes. Probably, Arthur thinks cynically, working out what to steal. TV, computer, sound-system, phone, top-of-the-range microwave, it has never occurred to Arthur before just how many expensive items he keeps in his flat.

He gives an awkward cough. “Do you, um, do you want a shower?”

Of course the boy wants a shower. He looks half-frozen. It’s approaching zero degrees out there and he’s wet through. Arthur doesn’t really want to ask why although he knows, as he mechanically shows the boy the bathroom and explains the thing about the shower, he really _should_ ask. He hands the boy a set of dry clothes and scuttles back to the safety of the living room. He has no idea who this boy is, why he was out alone in the cold, clothes wet and body bruised. And yet he’s offered him a bed for the night and a place to stay.

He couldn’t have very well _left_ him. Arthur tries to tell himself that. Tries to tell himself it has nothing to do with the fact that this _young man_ (he’s not a boy, honestly, he could be 20) is helpless and young and has big grateful eyes. There’s an unruly mop of brown hair on his head, a recent dark bruise scuffed over one cheek and honestly Arthur would have done the same if he’d been old and ugly and missing teeth, _honestly_.

The boy, man, Eames, comes out of the bathroom in Arthur’s clothes. He’s a good deal younger than Arthur, but he’s a bigger built so the clothes … almost fit. The tracksuit bottoms have been rolled up, and the blue jumper comes down to his thighs. Not that Arthur is looking at his thighs. Eames scrubs a hand awkwardly in his wet hair and says nothing.

Arthur prepares himself to ask the important questions. He needs to find out who this young man is, whether there’s anyone else who can help him, what his situation is, whether or not he’s actually _murdered_ anyone. But instead he asks if he wants something to eat.

Eames’s eyes light up at that. Arthur still knows nothing about him except his first name, but he takes food out of the freezer, heats it up, and sets it up in front of the television. With the television on he doesn’t have to talk. The yawning gap of unanswered questions opens up between them, and the clock ticks on towards the inevitable time when Arthur has to face up to the fact that he’ll be falling asleep with a man who could be a thief, or a murderer, or mad, next door in the spare room.

He could steal half of Arthur’s possessions and run away into the night. He could walk away with a folder full sensitive documents in his pocket. He could even try and stab Arthur in his sleep. Arthur has no idea who he is, or what he’ll do.

This was a _terrible_ idea.

 

**Eames**

It was Marv who got me into the whole fucking mess, I mean it always is yeah? I can take on him, no fucking problem but then Deap got on at me as well and I can’t take both of them. Would’ve stopped there except Marv’s damn brother hunted me down and when he finished with me he chucked me in the river. Staggered out under the bridge, wet through, it’s the middle of the night yeah, fucking freezing.

I didn’t think I was going to die, I mean I should’ve. I just never do. That’s why I’ve got such a lip on me I guess, never do think I’m going to die. But it was cold. Utter bone-chilling cold. I staggered down under a doorway, sat there watching the world go sort of numb and hazy and then I saw him.

Rich bloke. Didn’t have any idea at first what he was doing in a place like this. Scurrying around all suspect. Then he saw me, I saw his eyes, and I realised. Course I did. Bloke like him, he was looking for someone. And he found me. Course I wasn’t ideal, I could see in his eyes under all that desire was a sort of disgusted nervousness. He would’ve preferred something a bit cleaner. Or at least not half-drowned and shivering.

Still he took me home, and I’m thinking yeah I’m not going to _die_ but it’s fucking cold out here so might as well go with him. Besides, he’s all skinny and rich and I think I could take him if he got a bit fresh. And, well, might even let him take a grope or two if he wants I mean no harm in that it’s just a _grope_ yeah?

I follow him to his poncy flat and he gets me into the shower. On my own, which is decent. Not sure about the clothes he lays out though I mean I dunno I thought it would be like a ra-ra skirt or tight little pants. Or a uniform or something. It’s a pair of trackie bottoms and a big jumper. Hardly the _sexiest_ thing I’ve ever worn. I get my hopes up a bit, maybe he wants a cuddle on the sofa or something, then I can watch the telly and deck him when he sticks his hands down my pants.

Not that I’m given pants. Yeah. I notice that detail right there.

I go back in and he only goes and feeds me as well. He gets me on the sofa and honestly, well, I dunno. I don’t think I would’ve let him go _all_ the way, I got some pride still. But if he’d tried then and there, with me all hurting and smarting and oh so grateful, he could’ve got a bit of a night out of it, that’s all I’m saying.

But he doesn’t. Daft prick. He sits next to me the regulation six inches away and when it gets late he switches the TV off and shows me the spare room.

I get suspicious. Instantly. What’s this game? Who takes in a kid off the street and showers them and feeds them and then shows them a separate room? But of course I know who does that kind of fucking thing.

Marv does that kind of fucking thing.

Yeah, I know what Marv does.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames makes a move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter based entirely on the following picture: http://tweed-and-paisley.tumblr.com/post/146278137988/mr-arthur-he-purred-steely-blue-eyes

**Arthur**

Arthur doesn’t sleep well. Every noise makes him jump; the hum of the fridge, creaks in the house, cars driving past. But however much he listens, he can’t hear a sound from the room next door. He finally gives up on sleep and gets up at 6.30, pushing his feet into slippers and gently pushing the door open to see his new visitor.

Eames is asleep, curled up on his side, hair fluffy and dried overnight. He looks young, young and vulnerable, and Arthur is glad because it makes him feel less attracted to the kid and more determined to help him. He shuts the door and goes into the kitchen, making toast and eggs.

Toast and eggs for two.

It’s a good few hours before Eames emerges, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and dressed in the clothes Arthur gave him the day before. Eames’s own clothes have now been washed, and they’re currently tumbling through a dryer cycle. Arthur greets him with a “Good morning” and gets a sleepy grunt in reply.

It’s an odd day. Arthur doesn’t get any work done, not that he has all that much to do at the moment. He’s waiting, waiting on Cobb, and he’s not good at waiting. Not with sensitive information stashed in the safe, not with highly illegal items scattered around the house. It’s almost a relief to have Eames there; someone to ground him. He can’t act jumpy and skittish around Eames. He has to act normal.

Arthur opens his laptop and excuses himself from talking with a curt. “I have to work.”

“What do you work as anyway?” Eames asks, the first words he’s spoken all morning.

“Accountant.”

It doesn’t seem to occur to Eames to ask why Arthur isn’t in an office. From the look of him, he doesn’t know a huge number of accountants.

Eames spends the day lounging in front of the TV, changing channels and looking bored. Occasionally he shoots Arthur a strange uncertain look, then his eyes flicker back to the television. Arthur keeps expecting more questions, for the boy to ask to go out, to do something, for money, for help. But Eames says nothing until bedtime, until he asks, “Do I sleep in that room again?”

Arthur frowns, “Of course.”

“Right.” Eames heads off to bed without another word.

Arthur waits a few hours, staring uselessly at his computer screen and cursing Cobb inwardly before finally giving up and going to bed. He sleeps a bit better this time, mainly because he’s so exhausted, and so he’s completely unprepared to be woken up by the door creaking open, the shuffling sound of a body entering, and a low, heated little voice to say, “Uh, Mister Arthur? My bed’s too cold. May I please sleep in yours, tonight, sir?”

 

**Eames**

I’m waiting for it all night, but he doesn’t get his nerve up until the morning and even then the idiot goes and bottles it. I hear the door open, hear him step into the room, but I keep my eyes closed, all ready and twisted inside. I’m just waiting for it. Waiting for him to touch me, try and hold me down. He can fucking try it.

But he doesn’t. Just stands there for a few seconds and then leaves. Fucker. I feel my face heat up as I work it out. He’s looking me over. Marv did the same. They all fucking do. No point trying to turn a trick on someone who looks ugly as hell when they sleep.

I don’t really want to leave the bed after that, but I get hungry eventually, so I go and see if he’ll feed me again. He’s not making a move just yet, but it’s a fucking awkward day. I’m on edge the whole time, just waiting, waiting for him to say it, or make a move. Maybe he’s taking it slow to put me at my ease. That’s not working for starters.

I start to wish I hadn’t had a go at Marv. Same old of course, he wants me to be one of his little pet dogs, flitting around the back alleys, trading my arse away. As if. I shouldn’t have called him a poofter, he hates that. I mean surely there’s only so many blokes you can fuck before it becomes, like, automatic, but of course Marv isn’t _fucking_ them he’s just trying them out. He’s a businessman, yeah? Not going to sell any goods he doesn’t know are in top condition.

The day drags by and he feeds me and I watch telly and its fucking _torture_. I just want to get it over with, find out what the price is, what he wants from me. I try and ask if he wants me in the bed, but of course _I_ bottle it and he just gives me a stern sort of look, oh sorry Sir, was that the wrong thing to say?

Well, it’s something I can use. That’s what I do. I don’t _sell_ it, but I use it. I hook men in. Go to fancy clubs, posh parties, find whatever name Marv’s given me, then reel them in. By the time I walk up to them I’ve usually worked out what they want, what kind of man they’ll respond the best to. And I can change, oh yeah, change to whatever they want. Tough little scally, broken butterfly, giggling twink, whatever.

Well it gives me something to work with. He’s barely said two other words to me. So I figure … saviour complex. He wants to pretend he’s doing me a _favour_ taking me in then whoring me out. I wait for a bit, just to see if he decides to come and give it a go in my bed but nope. Nothing.

And I want to find out, I need to, I can’t stand another damn day like that. I get out of bed, tug on the big unsexy jumper he wanted me wearing, check it comes down to _just_ above my balls, muss my hair up, get a bit of a blush on my face, then shuffle into his room.

“Mistah Arthur?” I get the accent going, scrub awkwardly at the back of my head, lips a bit pouty, “My bed’s too cold. May I please sleep in yours, tonight, sir?”

That should fucking well do it.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confusion and miscommunication all over the place

**Arthur**

Arthur stares at the figure in the door, and for a moment he wonders if he’s still asleep. But no, this is real. Real air, real breath, and a real body, with blue eyes gazing at him from across the room.

And then he realises – he’s picked up a prostitute.

It all falls into place and Arthur gives a little groan as he realises just how well he’s been played. Poor, shivering, wet boy, all alone in the dark, and Arthur picked him up and brought him home. No wonder the boy was confused by the spare room. No wonder he keeps shooting Arthur those strange little glances. Arthur must looks like the daftest John in the book, buying a prostitute and paying him to watch TV all day.

Arthur wonders just how much of a bill he’s run up already.

The boy looks highly desirable, and Arthur can’t help but notice that the more he tugs his arm up, the further the jumper rides up at the front and he’s only a few millimetres away from being able to see Eames’s soft little cock and balls. For a wild moment he thinks maybe he could go for it. This is a rent-boy after all, if he’s already paying for over twenty-four hours would it be so immoral to get himself a fuck out of it?

He doesn’t even know how _old_ Eames is.

Arthur pushes himself out of the bed and slips his feet into slippers. Eames hesitates, then steps towards him, face flushed. And maybe it’s that little hesitation that decides it for him. Hopefully it’s something more. Arthur pats the bed.

“Of course you can sleep here. I’ll take the spare room.”

Eames hesitates and Arthur watches a little scowl pass over his face. They stare at each other in confusion for a moment, the bed between them, and then Eames snaps, “What do you want?”

It’s amazing how his voice has changed. Arthur feels a deep sense of unease. Sure he had no idea anyway who Eames was, but he’d fit him into a little box of “grateful homeless kid”. Now that box is starting to break up.

“I want to get back to sleep.” He responds.

“What do you want with _me_?”

“Nothing.” Arthur sighs and scrubs his face with his hands, “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong … impression. Really I am. I … I’ll pay for anything I owe you already, but I didn’t – I wasn’t looking for, uh, didn’t know you were.”

Eames stares at him and for a moment he looks even more vulnerable than he did lying down asleep in Arthur’s bed. Then he abruptly turns and leaves the room.

Arthur hurries after him and finds him tugging on his dry shirt and jeans, old and torn clothes and Arthur’s heart goes out to him. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just watches a bit helplessly, “Look, please … I just wanted to help. I’m sorry I insulted you, sorry if I –“

Eames turns on him, tugging his shirt down over his bruised chest, “You’ll pay for anything you owe me, yeah?”

Arthur’s mouth snaps shut.

“Go on then. Get the money.”

And now its Arthur’s turn to do an about turn, stony faced. He goes to the safe, pulls out a roll of notes, peels a few off. He’s very tempted to throw them in Eames’s face but instead he just sticks his hand out. “Here.”

Eames snatches them away and laces up his shoes. _It’s the middle of the night_ , Arthur wants to say. _Where will you go? What will you do? Who_ are _you?_

Instead he just says, not even sure how much he means it, “I suppose it’s too late now, if I wanted to actually get something for my money?”

Eames doesn’t even look at him, just finishes his shoe and then tucks the notes into his pocket. “Yeah. Too late.”

Then he’s out the door and Arthur is left standing alone in the dark.

 

**Eames**

There’s only one thing in the world more embarrassing than offering your body up to get fucked, and that’s offering it up and having it rejected.

I know it’s a bit suspect, going into a blokes room all seductive and ready to fuck, especially when you’ve got no bloody intention of actually letting him get into you. But it’s what I do all the time. I thought it might help old Arthur get his head screwed the right way, finally tell me what I was there for, but no.

He turned it down. His loss. _His_ fucking _loss_.

I get out of there quick as I can. If he doesn’t want to fuck me then he holds all the cards. He controls everything. It’s his place, his money, his TV. And oh, he didn’t _know_ , apparently, didn’t know I was just a grubby little slut, _he’s_ all peachy clean and innocent. Any policemen, or little entrapment scams, running around his place and they’ll not get a foot in the door. He just wanted to help!

Pays up quick enough for an innocent man. Shoves the cash at me when I ask for it. He can’t get rid of me fast enough. And I’m out of there like a scalded cat, money burning through my jeans, hands still shaking.

There’s nowhere else for me to go but back to Marv’s, slinking into the room with my tail between my legs. Marv isn’t there, just Deap, with a few of the girls, and he laughs himself daft when he sees me.

“Eameees! Oh maaaan you’re gonna get it.”

I scowl and flip him off, then crouch in the corner and scrounge a cigarette. I’m fairly certain I’ll be safe, given I’m coming back with money. Bit of cash calms Marv down like nothing else does.

Fairly certain, yeah.

“Where the hell were you, did it take you that long to get out the river?”

I light the cigarette and close my eyes, sucking it down the way I know you’re not supposed to. Fuck that. I just want smoke in my lungs. Not like I’m going to die from it. I’m never going to die. “Nah. Got picked up by some old pervert.”

“Oh maaaan.” Deap is high on something and I feel fucking jealous. “Did he get first dibs on that tight little arse? Didya do it?”

“Piss off.” I flip him off again and lie back, closing my eyes and hoping I can catch a few moments sleep before it all goes to shit in a handbasket.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course it doesn't end there :p  
> Arthur's only got a short bit in this chapter, but I'll cover his view of this in the next chapter.

**Arthur**

Arthur doesn’t have very long to feel like an idiot, because the next day Cobb phones and everything goes very crazy very quickly. He spends 24 hours lying on a rooftop with a pair of binoculars, then after a far-too-short nap he’s in the back of a van, desperately scrolling through pages and pages of documents, while Cobb sits next to him making urgent phone-calls. Another far-too-complicated heist, another insane plan and, hopefully, another large payout at the end of it.

He tells his story of woe to Yusuf, who laughs at him. “What are you so worked up about? You picked up a prostitute and he took your money. You’re lucky you didn’t wake up in a bucket of ice with a kidney missing. Think of it as the idiot tax.”

Arthur sighs, face twisting a little as he tugs down the waistcoat on the ridiculously fancy suit-jacket he’s wearing, “And now we have to go and hang out in a seedy little club while spectacularly overdressed, is this really the best way to make a living?

“You thinking of going straight?” Yusuf, finishes the label on a little bottle of pills with a flourish, and puts the bottle into a plastic bag. “There we go. That’ll knock him out for as long as Cobb needs him.”

“Going straight?” Arthur thinks of the curve of Eames’s arse, visible as his jumper snuck up. The downy hair on his naked legs, the flush that didn’t just cover his face, but also the hollow of his neck, temptingly disappearing under the jumper. He almost wishes he could rewind to that moment, to the split second when he’d thought Eames had _wanted_ him. “Now where would be the fun in that?”

 

**Eames**

Marv’s pissed, course he is, but with the money and all I don’t get much more than a slap and a day’s rest until he wants me up and working again. Working my work, yeah, not his work, which suits me fine. I strut around the usual haunts, changing between men, changing between looks. Really, there are only so many places in the underground, and in about a week I can get through all of them. So I change things around a bit. Dyed my hair a few times, wore an earring once. Little things, because it’s mostly the manners and attitude people remember.

Even I can tell though, there’s something big going down. Marv gets excited and witters on about big money and bigger people and I don’t give a fucking damn. He sends me off to _Sideways_ – s’a big casino/bar thing on the wrong end of town, I quite like Sideways. Anyway there’s a bloke there, big bloke so I can’t mess things up. He likes them a bit fancy, a bit gorgeous, so I stick a dash of lipstick on, khol my eyes up and get the black silk shirt on. It doesn’t suit me at all, but who the fuck cares for that? It suits who I’m trying to be right now.

I slide into the club and piss around for a bit, then get to my mark, see him pretty quick. And soon as he steps in the room I know it’ll be a tough one, because he’s not just _my_ mark, alright, every man in the damn place looks like they want a bite of this one. Hell this’ll be hard and I’m getting nervous. I don’t want to go back to Marv without a trick turned, not on a job as big as this.

I wait till he’s sat down and had a few, then flit up with a drink. Just stand next to him, looking bored, lost, pretty little boy out on his own. He’s not even interested. Got about six blokes surrounding him all trying for a suck at his cock. Why the hell would he want me?

Fuck this. If I’m fucking it up, I’m at least getting drunk first.

I keep an eye on him, giving the men around him the evils in case they decide to move for me, like hell they will, and then one of them palms a pill into his glass. That’s a fucking interesting step. I watch, interested now, I want to see him keel over, but it seems to take a while. Long enough, oh he’s fucking smart this one, long enough for all the rest to drift away, so when my trick folds over like a badly-made gatepost it’s only the one bloke there to slide him gently backwards behind a curtain.

And I’m there. I’m fucking _there_.

I know what’s behind that curtain. Know every inch of this place. I seem to remember I almost got forced into a blowjob behind that curtain once. Ugly bastard he was. I give it a few seconds then slip behind the curtain as well, and sure enough by then they’re well down the corridor and I hurry after them.

I have no fucking idea why, like, what I think I’m going to do. I mean I’m here to get my claws into a bloke being dragged off to fuck knows where. Now I’m good, fuck that I’m the best, but even I struggle with someone who isn’t actually conscious. I think I want a good bit of gossip to tell Marv, explain how I lost him. They drag him down the corridor, me scuttling after, and then open the door above the river. He gets lowered down into a boat and as soon as he’s down I take a run and jump, all flailing limbs, landing in the boat after him in a heap.

It’s a fucking small boat. There’s only two other people in it. Thought it’d be a barge or something decent sized. I could’ve died if I were the sort of person who did crap like dying.

The man behind where I’ve landed makes a startled noise and then swears like a trooper. Trooper with a posh accent. And I look up and my mouth drops open because it’s only fucking _Arthur_. My Arthur. I’m-an-accountant Arthur, sitting in a boat on the river carting off an unconscious criminal empire owner.

Then the other man holds a gun to my head and all I can think of to do is smirk and go “’Ello Mistah Arthur…”


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absolutely blown away by all the wonderful comments. The inception fandom is awesome! Chapters will be trickling in this week and there will be a sex chapter coming up (which you can skip or indeed skip to depending on preference).

Chapter 5

The moment he walks into the club Arthur feels nervous. He’s not even sure why, given that nothing’s gone wrong just yet. But things feel on-edge. The place is somewhere he’s never been, a dark seedy club, heaving with people. He hangs around the fringes of the place, keeping his eyes on Cobb. Redaro walks through the door and Cobb gives him a nod. Arthur slips off immediately, behind the curtain, along the corridor, then heaves open a hidden door and signals to Yusuf to bring the boat.

So far nothing has gone wrong. But somehow he can’t shake the feeling of unease.

He tugs off his silly formal outfit and gets into more comfortable camouflage gear. Then he deftly drops down into the waiting boat, lets Yusuf off, and rows back to wait under the door. He can feel his heart pounding, certain that it won’t work, that Cobb will either fail or be found out.

It takes a while that seems even longer, his nerves stretched to the edge, but then there’s the sound of footsteps, laboured and long, and Cobb is at the door, heaving the unconscious Redaro along with him. Arthur stands up to help lower him down, Cobb follows after, and Arthur picks up the oars with a muttered, “Took you long enough.”

And _then_ it all goes wrong.

There’s the sound of running and a yelp and a body sprawls down in the boat in between them, almost crushing Redaro as it lands. Cobb gets his gun out immediately, and then Arthur gasps, “Fucking _hell_ ” as he sees who it is.

The boy he took in from the cold. Eames.

His heart plummets, and Arthur feels a small streak of rage build within him. He thought he’d been played by a prostitute, but it seems the reality is far, far, worse. He’s been played by someone working for Redaro, who’s followed him, who now knows where Arthur lives. Even now, Redaro might have men combing his house for everything in it.

The boy looks up with a cheeky grin Arthur is just itching to slap away. “Hello Mr. Arthur. What’re you doing here?”

“Who is this?” Cobb snaps.

Arthur realises he has absolutely no idea. “I don’t know. His name might be Eames.”

Eames licks his lips, and Arthur hopes he’s a lot more scared than he looks. “I don’t think you’re an accountant Mr. Arthur.”

“He was outside the other night freezing cold so I took him home. Just pull the trigger.” Arthur snaps.

“You took him _home_?” Cobb stares at him in disbelief.

“Just shoot him.”

“Who does he work for?” Cobb presses the gun up against Eames’s head, making it tilt. Eames gives a wince. “Redaro? Someone else?”

Arthur gives a growl of anger because of course he has no idea who Eames works for, but Eames opens his mouth with a helpful. “I work for Marv.”

“Marv?” Arthur can already see Cobb flipping through the options in his head, the people he knows are a threat. “I don’t know a Marv.”

“Yeah, well you wouldn’t.” Eames is still grinning, “He’s just a pimp.”

“I knew you were a prostitute.” Arthur snaps.

That wipes the grin of Eames’s face. He winces again as Cobb knocks the gun against the side of his head. “I’m not.”

“Just row.” Cobb snaps, “Drop me and Redaro off at the hotel, then get him to the warehouse.”

The boat isn’t designed for four people, it’s been built for two men, with both of them rowing. Arthur is sweating by the time they reach the hotel, the back windows facing onto the river. Ariadne is inside and she cranks the window open, helping Cobb and the unconscious Redaro inside. If she notices Eames she doesn’t say anything.

Arthur pushes them away from the window and hands the oars over, holding Cobb’s gun. “Now you can row.”

“I’m not fucking rowing.” Eames sneers and then, a little less cocky, “What’s the warehouse?”

“It’s where we’re going.” Arthur pokes him in the chest with the gun. “Just row.”

Eames grumbles but picks up the oars and inexpertly sculls them slightly further downriver. There’s silence for a bit and then he mutters, “I’m not a prostitute.”

“I see. You just work for a pimp.”

“Yeah. And who do you work for?”

Arthur glares at him, the effect rather lost in the dark, “This is absolutely not how this interrogation is going to go. I ask the questions. You answer them.”

“Interrogation?” Eames licks his lips again, and gives a laugh. “That’s not a nice word Mr. Arthur. That’s a bit of a painful word.”

“We need to find out who you are.” Arthur snaps back, not at all about to feel sympathetic. “Who you work for. Why you targeted me the other night.”

“I didn’t target-“

“Why were you following Redaro?”

“The mark?” Eames stares at him, baffled, “He was a trick, that’s all. And I wasn’t going to fuck him, either. I just trap them in, that’s what I do. I was going to get close to him, get all into him, get his number, that’s all Marv wanted, yeah?”

He’s starting to look scared. Arthur’s starting to feel like a bully.

“So what was I, another trick?”

“No!” Arthur is playing a delicate game of questioning, trying to work out Eames’s motives and methods, and he’s just getting a baffled kid in response. Eames is either ten steps behind in this game or ten steps ahead and it bothers Arthur that he can’t work out which. Eames looks upset now, and ploughs ahead with. “Look, you were just a coincidence, yeah? I just thought … well … when I first met Marv I was all out alone, I just left home and … and he took me in. Like you did…”

Arthur feels his throat go dry.

“And, when men take me in it’s usually for one reason” Eames scowled, “It’s the reason Marv did, he tried to sell me off but I wouldn’t let him. So when you took me in I thought…”

Eames doesn’t look cocky any more, he looks scared and young. Arthur gives a groan, and puts down the gun, grabbing at the oars, “Here, you’re shit at rowing.”

“Are you gonna take me to the warehouse?” Eames asks in a very small voice.

Arthur sighs.

 

**Eames**

So it turns out my Mister Arthur is a hell of a lot more interesting than I first thought and it’s a bit fun watching him almost wet himself in a boat. Less fun with a gun though, I gotta say, and I’m just trying to remember who these guys are, what they look like, you never know might come in useful.

I give them Marv’s name right up though, because there’s always a chance they’ll go and smash his teeth in. And if there’s anyone who needs a bit of a doing over by an organised criminal gang its Marv. I can only hope.

Anyway it’s all fun and jolly boating on the river then they start mentioning warehouses and it gets a bit intense. I might not be afraid of death, but I’m not that keen on pain, and anything that involves abandoned places and grumpy men on the wrong side of legal tends to get painful pretty fast. I can feel my insides curling up at the thought. Thankfully though, the grumpy bloke with the gun pisses off with my mark, I clock the name and location of the place, some swanky hotel. That leaves me alone in a boat with my Arthur.

I can damn well play him.

Saviour complex, right. So I hold back on the bravado a bit, let my lip wobble, eyes widen, oh you aren’t gonna hurt me Mistah Arthur Sir, and I can see him start to fold. He wants a bit of my life story just to see if he believes me and I’m not sure whether to give him the real version or the heartbreaking version. I go for the heartbreaking, how I was a lost little boy all out alone and Marv got me into his evil clutches.

I mean the truth is fairly similar, it just isn’t as black and white, yeah? My Arthur doesn’t need to know that I was looking for pot and Marv was selling pot, and I didn’t mind giving blowjobs for pot. He’s happy enough thinking I’m a little innocent trapped in a big bad world, not a cheeky little shit who moved in with Marv because I was fed up with living in a tiny shit hole with my old man.

I do it properly, all uncertain scowls and pained little glances, and big wide eyes. I’ve still got the khol and lipstick thing on but I try to work it to my advantage, a bit of the ‘fallen hooker’ look. And he falls for it, oh yeah, hook line and sinker.

So basically, we end up back at his place.


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am having a bugger of a time uploading stuff, so here's two new chapters now and I'll upload a bunch more later in the week. Thank you again for all your wonderful comments! You guys are fantastic :)

  **Arthur**

In the end, Arthur takes him home. There really doesn’t seem much point in dragging him all the way to a cold, dimly lit warehouse to ask the same questions in far less comfortable circumstances.

 In Arthur’s head, a plan is forming. They need to do something with the boy after all, something that involves not letting him out of their sight. Cobb will want to keep an eye on him, and Arthur does want to look out for him. Whether he’s the innocent he claims to be, or just a very smart working rent-boy, he doesn’t deserve to be left in the clutches of this ‘Marv’ who sounds to Arthur like a nasty piece of work.

He sits Eames down at the kitchen table, then sits opposite him, trying to work out his approach. Eames stares at him, until the silence becomes oppressive enough for him to blurt out, “Well? What do you want, you gonna hit me?”

Arthur sighs, and resists the urge to bang his head on the table. “No, Eames. Is that really your name?”

“Yeah, it’s my name. It’s not important enough to lie about.” Eames gives a smirk, and he does look a bit more comfortable now Arthur has promised no violence. Arthur’s beginning to be able to tell when Eames is actually scared; when it’s an act and when it’s hidden under false bravado and generally behaving like an irritating little shit.

“So just out of interest,” Arthur says and pauses, “The nature of the job you did for Marv…”

“I told you.” Eames bites the words out, irritated, “I wasn’t a rent-boy. It was just like … escorting, yeah?”

“Extorting.” Arthur murmurs, and Eames gives a snort of laughter.

“Yeah that.”

“You … hooked men in, you said?”

“Yeah. Get them all hot and bothered, get them interested in me. Sometimes Marv just wanted a photo of them getting fresh, sometimes their number, sometimes a text or proof they’d been calling a number for sex. Sometimes more.” Eames shrugged. “Mostly blackmail.”

Cobb runs a tight little operation and Arthur is proud to be involved in it. Cobb has a trick, hypnosis, mind control. Get a man asleep, or in the right state of suggestible unconsciousness, and Cobb can murmur words in his ear that puts ideas in his mind. Cobb comes up with the idea, then Arthur researches, Ariadne comes up with a plan and Yusuf puts together whichever combination of chemicals will knock out the prospective mark without actually killing them. A skill like Cobb’s gets around, and now they’re inundated with offers and work.

Ariadne joined them a few months ago, when the work was getting too much for Cobb and Arthur alone. Within the first five minutes she’d come up, bluntly, with the largest gap in their operation. Finding a mark, tracking a mark, that was easy enough. And once the mark was asleep, Cobb could work his magic. It was the middle part where they were lacking: sneaking the prospective mark away to a private place and rendering them unconscious. At the moment they rely on stalking, waiting for a chance to occur to slip a sedative into food or drink and spirit the person away before awkward questions are asked.

Arthur can see an Eames shaped space.

 

**Eames**

Well I go in all expecting to get hurt in a dark room, and honestly I think given my Arthur’s half soft already I could probably take it. Instead I get offered a fucking job, right out of nothing. I stare at him when he pops the questions, can’t believe it.

“You want me to what?”

“The same sort of thing you do for … Marv.” He says Marv’s name like a housewife picking up a cockroach with tongs. God I like this bloke. “But for us instead.”

That gets my guard up a bit, “Who’s us?” If I’m working in a gang I want to know what sort of people are in it; which ones are most likely to try and shove me down to my knees behind a curtain. And of course my Arthur gets all defensive, because he’s not about to give all their names away until he can trust me, and he’s not stupid enough to trust me just yet.

So we back and forth a bit, and I get the feeling it’s him, grumpy bloke with the gun, the girl I think I saw through the window, and some other bloke who does unspecified stuff. I go all quiet and uncertain and poor-little-lost-boy, just for a bit, because basically I’m not about to say no. I mean what else do I do, go back to Marv and tell him I fucked up? But I string him out for a while, and then finally accept.

I spend the night in his spare room, and for the first time I sleep really well in it. I’m not worried about him jumping me anymore. Funny, but I trust him more now I know he’s a criminal, yeah? I know he’s bent, and he knows I am, and there’s a bit of respect there that wasn’t there at all the first time around.

I meet the gang the next day. The girl, Ariadne, she’s a fucking diamond, yeah, a real nice kid. She clocks me straight away, realises what I can do, and launches into a whole plan with me in the centre to find some wanker and get into his hotel room. And I can do it, easy as pie, and she knows that and yeah we get on well, me and Ariadne.

Then there’s grumpy git, Cobb, he doesn’t like me at all, but he has a massive fucking go at my Arthur when he thinks I'm not listening and I sort of warm to him a bit then. Anyone that can shout at my Arthur without him shouting back I quite like the look of. I don’t meet the other bloke, don’t even know his name, but then I don’t suppose I need to know. I’m not part of the team yet, this is just a test, a trial, to see if I can deliver the goods.

And the thing is, I really want to fucking do it. I don’t want to let them down.

Don’t want to let my Arthur down.


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR ANGST  
> All the misunderstandings come to a head in this chapter, and it gets pretty intense.

**Arthur**

Eames’s first job, and Arthur is as nervous as he’s ever been. It’s been … interesting to watch Eames interact with everyone else in his world. He gets on surprisingly well with Ariadne, who seems very pleased her plans now have a final piece to bring them together. She drags him out straight away to get him ready, for a small job Cobb has been putting off for weeks. Persuading a greasy city investor to take a risky gamble on a low-life illegal diamond cabal, not exactly the most _difficult_ job Cobb's ever done.

The man goes out to bars and clubs and all sorts of fancy places. But he never goes out alone, and he never goes home alone, which makes him hard for Cobb to pin down. He has a tendency to come home with young, posh, city boys, and that’s where Eames comes in.

Arthur watches him getting ready, in clothes newly bought by Ariadne, expensive suit shirt and smart trousers. His hair is slicked back with gel and he suddenly looks a good few years older. He gives Arthur a smirk when he’s done and Arthur has to look away and fiddle with the window blinds to hide how good he thinks Eames looks.

Because Cobb is _right_ damn him.

Cobb cornered him, while Eames and Ariadne were out shopping for the suit. “Arthur, why is this boy here?”

“You know why he’s here.” Arthur snapped back, “To catch your mark.”

“That’s why you took him in is it? That’s why you didn’t take him to the warehouse?”

Cobb knows, because Cobb knows Arthur. It used to be just the two of them, their little hypnotism heist, with a working drug-man in Yusuf. Now there’s Ariadne involved and suddenly it’s a team. Arthur wonders if that’s maybe why he bought Eames into this whole mess, to prove to Cobb that he can work as a team.

To prove to Cobb that Arthur doesn’t need him.

Instead all Arthur seems to be proving is that he's an idiot who thinks with his dick.

They drive to the bar and Eames gets to work, all smooth and slick, chatting up their mark. He knows what he's doing, and within about ten minutes the man has his hands all over Eames’s arse. Eames laughs and giggles and starts getting sloppy drunk and Arthur has to look away before he ends up doing something stupid.

Cobb was right.

The mark whispers into Eames’s ear and pretty soon the two of them are in a taxi headed towards a fancy hotel. Cobb drives after, following them carefully, not that the mark is about to notice because he’s got eyes all over Eames. Eyes and hands.

“He’s good.” Ariadne says.

“Very good.” Cobb admits.

Arthur says nothing.

The mark books a room in the hotel. Ariadne and Cobb head in together, giggling and pretty, all young-couple-having-a-dirty-weekend and book a room down the hall. Arthur slopes off to the security room, finds a secluded corner, plugs himself in, and sticks the camera in that particular hallway onto repeat, replaying a loop of the last five minutes. He doubts anyone will bother to notice.

He tries not to think of Eames, in the room alone with the man. Eames who is young and innocent and a complete consummate flirt. Eames who despite being innocent and naïve and helpless has somehow managed to wangle his way into a well-paid job away from his old pimp. A job where he doesn’t even have to sleep with anyone.

Arthur shuts his laptop, stony faced. Eames is good at using men.

Cobb texts him the number of the room he’s booked with Ariadne and Arthur heads up the stairs mechanically. By the time he gets up there the sting is clearly well in operation, because there’s only Eames in the room, preening and smirking, giving him the smuggest look as he enters.

“Job done, Mr Arthur, fucking easy.”

Easy. Oh yes.

Arthur doesn’t answer. He goes to the minibar and pulls out a gin, Eames follows him, slightly petulantly, “Well? Didn’t I do a good job?”

“You got drunk and let a man grope you.” Arthur snaps, his hands are shaking a little. “Not as good as the job you did with me, but still, not bad.”

The smirk disappears from Eames’s face, “You fucking what?”

“Nothing. I don’t know. Just get some rest.” Arthur slumps down on an easy-chair, just wanting to clear his head. But when he’s gulped down about half the gin and finally looks up things are even more complicated.

Because Eames is crying.

 

**Eames**

I get ready for the night all tense and excited. Arthur's watching and I put on a good show, just for him. I usually wouldn’t bother I mean he’s not the mark so why should I care? But he’s never seen me in a suit before, and I think he might like it.

Oh he likes it. Yeah.

I get into the bar and right onto this mark and it’s so easy I’m almost laughing. I push my accent right up, cut-glass it goes. Ariadne taught me all the right slang and lingo, although I don’t even have to talk much, just let his hands go where they want and act sloppy drunk. He likes that, me being compromised. Gets him all excited, and pretty soon he’s hiring a taxi.

He tries to get a blowjob in the taxi and it takes a bit of work to stop him. But I’m all, “Oh just you wait … wait till we’re back … mmmm oh the things I’ll do to you” and frankly I wouldn’t still be a virgin if I couldn’t keep an eager man off me. When we get back to his posh hotel I grab some drinks out the minibar, slip in the little pill, and he’s out. Eyes roll up and he folds over into my arms. I lie him on the bed and give the front of his trousers a nice hard grope. Just payback. I mean he got it all hard for me after all, might as well.

Then I’m off to the room where grumpy git and Ariadne are waiting, fucking hell they look impressed. Grumpy lad even gives me a nod, and I’ve only fucking done it. Got in with my Arthur’s friends. I’m feeling smug as hell. I strut around the room and when my Arthur comes in I’m all blown up like a balloon, well didn’t I do a good job, Mistah Arthur Sir, like a fucking puppy dog.

Only he doesn’t want to play. He sits down, gets a drink and snaps out, “Not as good as the job you did on me.”

And I think that’s where it hits me, that to him I’m a whore. Doesn’t matter that I’ve never had a dick in my arse in my life. Doesn’t matter that I did the whole fucking job to impress him. I’m a slut, and that’s all I’ll ever be to him. I come fucking crashing down, and for fucks sake I even tear up a bit. Now I’m no stranger to tearing up, but I do it to play men, not because I can’t fucking help it. I throw myself into the other remaining sofa and get into a right sulk.

“Eames?”

I don’t cry. I never cry. I never cry when Marv slaps me, don’t cry when his brother does me over, hell didn’t even cry when those five fuckers got me behind the back entrance of _Strobelight_ and made me blow them all, they would’ve taken a hell of a lot more if Deap hadn’t turned up and I didn’t cry then. I only cry to get sympathy from marks, and right now I don’t want sympathy from Arthur in fact I just want him to fuck off and jump off a bridge.

“You shoulda let Cobb shoot me!” I yell, except it comes out all snotty and daft.

He kneels down next to the chair and fucking hell he’s going to. He’s actually confessing at me, this would be fucking gold dust if I wasn’t throwing a complete moody.

“Eames, I know I shouldn’t, but I really do feel for you, and when I saw that man pawing all over you –“

“You didn’t want to fuck me!” I scream back at him, getting properly worked up because why the fucking hell not. I hate his fucking guts. “You said you wouldn’t pimp me out an’ then you offered me a fucking job with you pimping me out and then you get fucking angry at me for doing the damn job, the job that you fucking wanted me to do!” I storm out the chair but there’s nowhere to properly storm off to in a tiny hotel room so I flounce around in circles for a bit then kick my shoes off and collapse on the bed.

“I’m sorry.” Arthur says. And I almost think he means it. It’s not a word I’m used to hearing.

Not a word Marv ever says.

I put my arm over my head and I feel fucking pathetic. “C’n … can you come and lie next to me.” I don’t say it seductive or anything, I just can’t stand being alone right now. One stupid useless whore on a bed.

He lies next to me, keeps his clothes on which is decent, I mean I’m fragile as all hell and I did just offer. He could take it and I don’t even think I’d have the strength to stop him. I feel like a dead weight. I snuffle and snot all into his jacket and he just puts a hand on my head and strokes my hair.

“You did well Eames.” He says gently. “Cobb was impressed. He wants you on the team.”

Well that fucking breaks me down right there. I only go and cry myself to sleep, with Arthur lying next to me, stroking my hair as I finally drift off.


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more chapters for you lovely, lovely people. After the angst, here's two chapters of sex to lighten the mood a bit :)

 

**Arthur**

Arthur wakes up feeling sticky and uncomfortable, the usual result of sleeping fully clothed.

The first thing he notices is that there are a pair of arms around his waist, someone snuggled up behind him, spooning him in the bed, and then the memory of last night crashes into him at high speed.

The night of Eames’s first job. Where Eames, the scruffy, damaged, hopeless little street-boy acted like a complete professional and Arthur, the practised sleek criminal, got jealous, got drunk, threw a hissy fit, and then confessed undying love.

Wonderful.

He takes a few seconds to gather his thoughts before rolling over to face Eames. He’s expecting tiredness and tears, and it momentarily throws him when he gets a sleepy little grin and a “Morning Mr Arthur.”

“Good morning Eames…” he murmurs, and the arms around his waist hug a little tighter.

Eames looks adorable in the morning, hair all mussed and sticky from the gel, suit all rumpled. “I’m, please, about last night…”

“Nah, nah, s’alright, we were both on edge yeah?”

“No really, I should –“ His words are cut off as Eames kisses him.

Eames’s lips are soft and warm and taste as good as he imagined. And even though Arthur can’t shake the nagging suspicion that he’s being played like a violin he lets himself relax and enjoy it. Maybe Eames is playing him, using him, working him. Or maybe he’s just a lonely damaged young man grateful for any affection he can get. Either way, Arthur knows he shouldn’t be kissing him, but it seems rude to stop.

Eames is flushed and humping his leg a little. Clearly he’s woken up with a hard cock, and Arthur blushes, “Oh god, Eames, no, I can’t, we really shouldn’t –“

“Please Mr Arthur…”

“Don’t call me that, we should talk about this, we really –“

“Mister Arthur Sir?”

“Fuck.” The word slips out before Arthur can help it, as Eames grabs his hand and gently moves it onto the smart suit trousers. Eames is hot and hard underneath and Arthur gives a little rub and squeeze and is rewarded by a low moan and a desperate squirming.

Arthur is very much aware that he, Eames, is gorgeous and he, Arthur, is going straight to hell.

He undoes the trousers and slips his hand inside, rubbing and stroking at the length within.

Eames groans and clings onto him. Arthur reaches up his other hand and gently rubs at the little nub of Eames’s nipple under the shirt and suddenly the squirming increases, and Eames is gasping out his name and then cumming, with the speed and urgency of a young man with no control.

Arthur gently kisses his forehead then pushes himself out of bed, Eames stretches out and puts his hands behind his head, looking up at him curiously, “Do you want me to do you?”

“Do you want to give me a hand-job?” Arthur asks frankly.

Eames’s face twists, like the concept doesn’t make sense. “Well I should, yeah, only fair.”

“You don’t have to.”

Another look of bafflement from Eames. He nods at Arthur’s trousers. “But you’ll be in a state all day.”

“Yes I will.”

Eames looks absolutely delighted, “All because of me?”

Arthur can’t help a smile at that, “Yes, all because of you.”

Eames looks happier than Arthur has ever seen him. Arthur decides that from now on, he wants to keep Eames looking as happy as he possibly can.

 

**Eames**

I wake up early in a funk. Arthur’s lying next to me, and I’ve sorta wrapped around him in the night, so I stare at the back of his head and have a bit of a think.

See the thing is, I do rather like my Mister Arthur. He’s treated me better than any man. He’s never hurt me, never hit me, even when he’s had a good few reasons to do so. He hates Marv, and I love him for that. He’s sweet on me, but not in a leery way, just like he wants me, but he’s not just going to take me any old way. He wants me to want him sort of thing.

I can’t really blame him, really, for thinking of me as a whore. I mean _really_. All I’ve tried to do since I’ve met him is have sex with him or have sex with other men. I mean I would never actually go all the way with any of them, but how’s he supposed to know that? And I work for a pimp. And I was playing him, at least at first, stands to reason he’d get the wrong impression.

All things considered, I finally decide fuck it. I could do worse than Mister Arthur.

I doze again, and next time I wake it’s in a better frame of mind. Actually, I wake up with a stiffy on me. I rub it against my Arthur’s arse a little, because he’s got a nice arse on him, and decide to try him out. Just see how he reacts, see what I can get away with. I stop when he wakes up, and then he rolls over to look at me. He doesn’t look at his smartest first thing in the morning, but it’s pretty cute.

I offer it up.

And he turns it down, the sweetheart. He’s determined to slice his pound of flesh off, to get all the deep and meaningful apologies out. Fuck all that, if he really wants to apologise he can stroke my cock for me. And he does, oh he _does_ , I can’t believe it. Nice as you like, and he keeps going till I’m all finished.

I’m ready to sort him out in return, of course I am, but fucking hell he’s that sorry he’s willing to pass. I’ve never had a man do that before. I’m wondering if he might be, you know, one of those odd wankers who gets off on it. Deap knew a lad used to pay for the girls to point and laugh then smack his willy with a stick. Takes all sorts. But this doesn’t look like his first choice. It’s just his first choice is only for when I say I'll do it, fucking hell what a gentleman.

Heh. He’s going to be in a state all day.

Fuck that, so am I…


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE SEX CHAPTER  
> You can skip it if you want to remain PG, there's some character development and a whole lot of sex, but no major plot points :p  
> Warnings for: anal, rimming, handjob, repeated use of the word 'arse'.

 

**Arthur**

Arthur leaves Eames with a key to his flat, and heads back out to meet Cobb. The slick young man Eames seduced the night before will wake up alone in his hotel room, with a sudden burning desire to invest in diamonds, but the job isn’t over yet until they can prove to their clients that he actually has done the investing. They still have a bit more stalking and following to do.

He comes back home to find Eames already there, lounging on the sofa, eating a pizza. Eames looks up when he enters, and a brief flicker of uncertainty passes over his face, as if he isn’t sure whether he’ll get into trouble, before quickly being replaced by a cheeky grin.

“I started dinner without you, Mr Arthur.”

Arthur smiles back and kicks off his shoes. “You really don’t have to call me that.”

“Don’t you like it?” Eames smirks, because of course he knows Arthur likes it.

They sit together eating pizza, but the silence is filled with a fission of excitement. Arthur’s pretty sure they’ve both spent the day thinking about each other, he’s certainly spent most of it fantasising about Eames. When they’ve finished he offers up a cursory, “So do you want the spare room, or?”

Eames gives him pitying glance.

They tumble into bed together and Eames has his hand down Arthur’s underwear in about five seconds. Arthur reciprocates and for a few wonderful minutes there’s some glorious tussling and squirming between them. Arthur’s other hand reaches up again to slide and pinch at Eames’s nipple, while Eames doesn’t seem to know what to do with his other hand, but settles for grabbing Arthur’s hair. Once again Eames comes fast then lies there, panting, watching Arthur finish himself off.

When Arthur’s finished Eames hesitates, frowns like he’s trying to think of the best way to phrase something, and then evidently gives up because the first thing that comes out of his mouth is a blunt, “Do you want to fuck my arse, Mr Arthur?”

“Yes.” Arthur can see the expressions flickering in Eames’s eyes, “But not until you’re ready.”

“Oh yeah?” Eames sounds a bit aggressive, a bit challenging. “And when will you figure I’m ready?”

“When you tell me.”

“So what if I never tell you?”

“Then I’ll never fuck you.”

Eames frowns and Arthur reaches up to stroke his hair again while he fits that one into his head. “But … you want to.”

“Most definitely.”

“And if I keep saying no, I can string you along forever?” Eames once again looks delighted to have such power, and Arthur feels a strong deep hatred for Marv, or whoever else has taught Eames that his body should be available by default.

“For as long as you want to.” He answers, and is rewarded by a beautifully smug little smile.

“Can I fuck you up the arse?” Eames asks, all cheekily.

“If you like.”

It’s clear that wasn’t the answer Eames was expecting. He gives Arthur a deep, shocked look. “What really?”

“Yes.”

“ _Really_.”

“Of course.” Arthur strokes his hair again, and watches Eames settle into the bed.

“You’re fucking _weird_ Mr. Arthur.”

“You can do whatever you want with me.” Arthur murmurs, but Eames is yawning and Arthur doesn’t think he hears.

 

**Eames**

So the first night at his is fucking spectacular, he gives me another hand-job, and I give his knob a nice fondling. I’m not ready to finish it, not yet, I still hear how fucking _disgusted_ he sounded calling me a whore after my first job, but he’s more than a gentleman and happy to do for himself.

There’s part of me still a bit worried he’ll jump me, like there’s part of him still a bit worried that I’ll escape at midnight with his telly, so I ask straight out whether he wants it. “Not until you’re ready.” He says and at first I think he’s taking the mick. Like the fucking anal-fairy will come down at midnight and bless my arse open. What magical event is going to make me more ‘ready’ to take a fucking cock up my arse? But he’s not going to jump me, and that’s what matters. Maybe he’ll get bored of me eventually, but right now he seems happy enough.

The daft sod even offers me his arse, like he thinks I’ll fuck off and find someone more interesting if he doesn’t. He doesn’t need to do that, yeah, I’d stay with him anyway, and the next morning, I decide to call his bluff. I wake up spooning him again and I wriggle against his arse and murmur gently, “Mr Arthur, I wanna fuck you.”

I’m a romantic, me.

I can feel it when he wakes up, and I’m all there waiting for him to snap at me not to be daft, or just pretend to fall asleep again, but he rolls over and raises his eyebrow, “Oh yes?”

“Yeah. You said I could.”

“Indeed I did.” God I love the way he talks. All posh and smug, my Mister Arthur, “Wait here, I’ll get ready.”

That mysterious ‘ready’ again. Maybe it’s how people like him say they’re taking poppers, fuck I don’t know.

He goes into the bathroom, I hear the sink going, maybe he’s just giving it a clean down there. I reach down and stroke myself, and yeah I’m imagining bending him over the sink and giving it a good scrub myself. See how flushed and awkward I can make him. He comes back in and stares at my cock like he wants to marry it and I say “Well? You gonna bend over something?”

I’m being a bit stroppy with it because I’m still expecting him to get out of it. Fuck, I mean I’ve been further than this and still gotten out of it before.

He comes up to the bed, all naked and pale. Puts his fingers on my chest and pushes a little. “Stay lying down.”

He kneels on either side of my waist, and he’s still got a little grin on, looking all pleased as punch, so he’s definitely not going through with it because nobody about to take a cock would look that happy. His fingers stroke up my cock, they’re all lubed up and slick and it feels fantastic, and I think, you know, I would be OK with just this. I mean it’s a bit mean of him to tease, but I can totally understand him just going for a hand job here and I’ll forgive my Arthur, I don’t want to hurt him.

But then he rolls a condom over my cock.

Then he lowers his body down.

Oh fuck.

Fuck.

Fuuuuuuuuck.

I never felt anything like it.

FUCK.

Fuck I don’t even know what happens next. I remember Arthur’s face, and Arthur’s fingers. I think he said something, fuck knows what. All that’s in my mind is the fucking fantastic feeling of heat and tight around my cock, Jesus _wept_.

Oh fuck.

Of course he’s still good and hard when it’s all over, because I finish off in about five fucking seconds. And I feel a bit lost and helpless when I come down, so I grab at him, and he holds me, and I can feel his hard cock pressing into my side, but I know, I _know_ , it’s not going to go anywhere near me if I don’t want and that feels utterly fucking fantastic. Once I’ve got myself together I lie back and look up at him, and he looks, well, happy. He’s happy he’s had my cock up him. Mmmmm. I like that.

Suddenly I know what I want to do. “Bend over. Just kneel down, I want to see your arse.”

He shuffles around on his knees, then bends his body forward, looking back at me curiously.

I push myself up a bit, put my hands on either side of his arse. I can see between, where my cock was, all pink and stretched.

I just dive in with my face and tongue and kiss all over it. And my Arthur starts making these fucking spectacular noises. His hand reaches up to his cock, and for the first time since we met I actually am touching him when he finishes off. Touching him somewhere pretty intimate as well. It feels good to give him something in return, especially something that involves him bending over and making little whimpering sounds.

Quite loud whimpering sounds actually.

My Arthur’s a screamer, bless him.

Fucking love him.


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more sex talk, and then the plot gets rolling again.  
> Warnings for discussions of sexual practises (oral, anal, etc.) and then a bit of violence at the end...

**Arthur**

The next few days seem to contain mostly Eames and bed, while Cobb gets the next job together. Eames is young, and enthusiastic, and for a man bought up mostly in a brothel appears to be rather naïve when it comes to matters of sex. Arthur is certainly starting to take his claim to virginity a lot more seriously, Eames genuinely seems to be experiencing most of this for the first time.

Not that he’s in any way shy or reluctant. Arthur gives him a blowjob, watching the ecstasy rise and tip over in Eames’s eyes. One evening, while Eames is thrusting above him, he gives a squeeze and then an experimental slap to the nice plump arse above him. Eames’s eyes widen, and his thrusts go more erratic, and Arthur repeats the action, leaving lovely pink handprints all over pale, untanned skin, until Eames cries out and cums harder than Arthur has seen yet. The next morning he even tries growling, just as Eames is about to tip over the edge, “Don’t you dare cum…”

Except, as it turns out, growling orders in Eames’s ear is the quickest way to give him an instantaneous orgasm.

The next job involves someone far lower down on the criminal scale, but Cobb is being paid a lot of money by another client to make him decide to take his business out of London and onto the continent. Ariadne and Arthur do the research, and Eames goes to this appointment dressed in tight black trousers and a mesh vest. He clips a little gold hoop over his right nipple and Arthur shudders.

“Something wrong, Mr Arthur?” Eames smirks, giving the little hoop a flick, eyes fixed on Arthur.

“I’m not going to go into a jealous snit again.” Arthur says quietly, as Ariadne leaves the room, sensing they need a bit of time. “But I don’t want to think about you getting fondled up by that man.”

“Awww, Mr Arthur…” Eames slides a hand down his shirt, a chunky signet ring on his little finger, “But I’m not doing it for him, yeah? I’m just using him to get all excited for you.”

“Eames.” Arthur puts on his strictest voice, because if Eames can tease so can he. “This man is a job, not a sex toy.”

Eames pats Arthur’s lips with a finger, “I’ll get all hard and hot for you Mistah Arthur Sir.”

Suddenly Arthur doesn’t feel as jealous of the other man.

Eames doesn’t get taken back to a swanky hotel this time, but a shitty little flat on a run-down estate. Arthur follows in the car, giving a smile as he sees Eames come out of the lift; shirt rumpled, lips pink. Cobb scoots off and Arthur gets out the car almost mechanically, making his way over to Eames who as usual is smirking.

He waits until Cobb is in the lift headed up and then presses Eames behind a column. Eames nuzzles at his neck and Arthur murmurs, “What do you think you look like?”

“Walking fucking sex?”

“You look filthy.” Eames is filthy, the place is filthy, and Arthur presses one clean suit leg up between Eames’s jeans and lets him rut against it shamefully.

“You gonna go down for me Mr Arthur?” Eames gasps.

“I’d ruin my suit.” Arthur puts a hand against the bulge in Eames’s trousers, but Eames bats it away.

“You can go down on me here, or go down on me back in the car, yeah?”

“Brat.” Arthur murmurs. They’re right out in public, only half hidden by the pillar. The floor is dirty and sticky, covered in fag ends and chewing gum. Eames’s eyes are bright and eager.

Arthur slides down to his knees.

They rest in the car afterwards while they wait for Cobb. Eames dozes in the back, and Arthur watches him, feeling a fond sort of warmth in his chest. He doesn’t just care for Eames any more, he knows. This is a much more deep and complex feeling, more than the awkward desire and love he felt at the beginning. He doesn’t want to think about it too much, not at this stage, not when there are so many external forces capable of smashing into the two of them and tugging whatever they have apart, but he can see them muddling along happily together for a fair chunk of time. Sex, and food, and the job. Comfortable nights in Arthur’s flat, and crazy evenings working for Cobb.

It could work.

Except three days later, Eames doesn’t come home.

 

**Eames**

I give myself a couple of days, yeah, just a couple to enjoy time with my Mister Arthur. And hell, it’s easy time to enjoy. He’s got a dirty little mind has my Arthur, underneath all those posh suits and smart haircuts. In the first few days I’ve fucked his arse and mouth repeatedly over most of his house. I’ve been ordered around, fingered up, spanked, you name it. It’s fucking paradise.

But I know it can’t last, so I get myself over to Ariadne soon as I can walk straight. We don’t make _plans_ exactly, but I let her know a bit about Marv, and all his hide-outs, because I know he’ll be looking for me. He’s not daft, and I was a nice little earner. Besides, it’s not as if I’m keeping a low profile exactly, pissing around clubs and bars doing the exact same job I did before.

It’s after my second job it happens. Not a bad job either. I’m dolled up in a punky sort of number, Arthur practically drooling over me, and he gets me up against the wall soon as I finish. Slides down to his knees and then latches a finger in my nipple ring – it’s a snap on one and I swear my nipple’s purple and blue by the time I finish. Fucking aches all the way back, I rather like that.

We fool around the next few days, then he starts up the researching with Cobb again so I piss off by myself to get some food in the place. I’m on the way to the shops when Deap slopes in and I sorta fall into stop next to him. Big mistake.

“Eames, man, where you been?”

I just shrug, “Found a new guy.”

“Aww c’mon man, Jeanie says she saw you up in that posh do about a week ago, getting off with some city boy. You gone on the game?”

“Fuck off.” I say, but gently because Deap’s not a bad bloke, and I’m feeling pretty happy about the way things are turning out for me right now. I’ve got a good new job and my Arthur. Course I’m walking and not thinking which is why we end up in a fucking alleyway with Marv’s brother behind me.

That’s when I get the sinking feeling in my gut. I whinge at them, but Deap isn’t budging and Marv’s brother is just a fucker anyway.

He gives me a slap right in the face. I go down swearing with his fucking ring etched in my cheek. It’s then I know I’m in trouble, because Marv never wants my face hit. My face is the bit he sells. If he’s hitting my face it means he either wants to make sure nobody can make any money out of it, or he’s decided to make money out of another bit of me.

Marv’s brother yanks me upright, and it’s his palm this time, all careful-like, laying across my face like a slab of cement. Oh yeah, this’ll leave a mark.

Fucking hell am I in trouble.


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: this chapter gets a little dark and intense for poor Eames. Gaslighting, some physical violence, bit of forced nudity, etc.

**Arthur**

At first Arthur refuses to let himself believe there’s anything wrong. He tosses and turns in the bed, hands sliding out into the empty Eames-free space. Eames has gone out, that’s all, he’s a young man and there’s no reason he has to spend every evening in a dull older man’s flat. He’s gone out, he’s got drunk, he’s lost his keys.

By 5am Arthur is worried and miserable.

He pulls himself together the next morning, puts his head down and gets back to work. Cobb has finally managed to pick up the big contract he’s been aiming for – not just one man to hypnotise, but three of them simultaneously. Three board executives with casting votes. Eames can nab one of them, he’s well known for hanging out around the Common in the evenings, but the other two will need something more subtle.

Arthur rushes home at midday almost convincing himself that Eames will be there, hungover on the sofa complaining and eating pizza.

No Eames.

Once work is over, he finally allows himself to properly worry. He can’t tell Cobb, not when Cobb has only just gained a grudging admiration of Eames’s ability to work with them. He dithers for a bit, then calls Ariadne, mostly because he wants to hear her tell him that he’s being an idiot for worrying too much.

Instead, she sounds almost as scared as he is, “When did he go missing?”

Arthur sketches in the details and she turns up at his house ten minutes later with a whole folder containing information about Eames’s pimp Marv; names, addresses, contacts. Arthur is impressed, but also feels a little sad. Ariadne has been given this information, not him. Does Eames still not trust him? Is he worried that Arthur will be put off by the shady details of his former life?

“I’ve worked out three main approaches.” Ariadne says bluntly. “We threaten him, we bribe him, or we deal with him.”

“Which option allows me to shoot him in the face?” Arthur snaps.

Ariadne scowls at him, “There are pros and cons of each. Threaten has the potential to be easy and quick and yes you might get to shoot him. But it’s the most dangerous option for Eames’s safety.” She pauses to let that sink in and them continues. “Bribing him; the problem with bribes is they get out of hand, and we have no real guarantee, except Eames. We might end up paying a hell of a lot and getting very little back.”

“What do you mean by ‘deal with him’?” Arthur asks suspiciously.

Ariadne hesitates and doesn’t quite meet his eye. “Essentially, we try to buy Eames.”

Arthur feels his jaw twitch. “ _Buy_ him?”

“Yes. Look – with all three options as soon as Eames is safe with you we can immediately call the police and throw this Marv into jail. We have more than enough to incriminate him. But we need Eames back first.”

Arthur manages to keep his voice surprisingly steady. “Did you discuss these options with Eames? Did he have any preferences?”

“We … discussed them a little.” Ariadne gives him an awkward look, “Not in detail. But he did have a preference.”

“Which option?”

“Um. The third.” Ariadne doesn’t know much about their relationship, but she is aware that a significant part of the tension in it involves Arthur worrying Eames is a sex worker and Eames scared that Arthur is a pimp. This probably won’t help. “He said, exact words, ‘Just let Mr. Arthur buy me, Marv won’t try to shoot me and Arthur’ll probably enjoy it’. Um.”

Arthur feels a wave of helpless misery wash over him.

“If it’s any help.” Ariadne gently pats his shoulder, “The very next thing he said was, ‘if that doesn’t work, tell Mr. Arthur to shoot him in the fucking face.’”

 

**Eames**

I want to be kicking and screaming. I mean I start off kicking and screaming. But after a few slaps I sort of lose the energy a bit, and nobody’s listening anyway. Marv's brother grabs the top of my arm and hauls me limply along back to Deap’s old place, while Deap texts Marv.

Thing is, I never would’ve thought of Deap as a bastard. I know he sells some of the girls, but they’re all in control of it, not like Marv’s boys. Half of them don’t pay him a damn thing and the rest all filch weed off him for free anyway. He’s never treated me too bad. But then that was before I met Mr Arthur, I think I thought the way Deap treated me was the best way I could hope to be treated, if that makes any damn sense.

Now I’m just seeing he’s a wanker.

They drop me in the corner of the room near the mattress and I croak out a few swearwords, but sort of quiet because honestly I don’t want Marv’s brother hearing. Deap gets me some water and I spit it at him and then fucking regret it because he doesn’t give me any more.

I’m a little heap of miserable when Marv gets there. I glare at him and of course the fucker just kneels down in front of me, scrubs my head and says all soft, “Oh Eames…” and I almost break down. Maybe a few weeks ago I would’ve. But I fucking know now.”

“You hit my face.” I say. I manage to snarl it as well. I like my face.

“I didn’t tell him to do that.” Marv says all gentle still. He gives me a water bottle and tilts my head up and this time I drink it, but I glare at him the whole time so he knows I don’t want to.

“Yeah well, what the fuck are you gonna sell now?”

He hesitates. The fucker actually hesitates. Shit.

“Eames what have you been doing with yourself?” He pets my hair again and I sort of jerk away. “You found a new pimp now?”

“He’s not a pimp!”

Marv raises an eyebrow, “Then why are you turning the same jobs?”

He’s got me there, I glare at him, my mind spinning away behind a slowly blackening eye, “Because he’s a daft old pervert and it turns him on. Seeing other men all over me. I told him what I did for you and he said he wanted to see that. So I do it for him, yeah?”

I’m not going to sell out my Arthur. Wouldn’t even sell out Cobb. Not bringing any of the others into this, not until he hits me a good deal harder at any rate.

“Did he fuck you?” The question comes out fast and it leaves me cold. That’s all he wants to know really. Whether I’m damaged goods, whether I’m still any use to him, and I suddenly get a fucking awesome idea.

I sniffle a little, look pathetic, give a whimper. “Yeah…”

Marv sits back, and thank fuck he’s looking a bit disgusted. He’s been wanting to sell the first go at my arse since I moved in with him. If that’s not available I’ve seriously gone down in value. “Once? Or … lots.”

“Lots…” He’s looking proper fed up now. “Y-yeah he did, a-and you were right it hurt and…”

Marv’s got a calculating sort of look in his eye. “Oh really?”

I wonder if I’ve overdone it. But I really do want to make it clear my arse is no longer worth selling. “Yeah. Every night. It’s sore as fuck.”

“Alright then.” Marv looks at me, then he lunges forward, grabs my trousers, and yanks down. “Let’s see.”

I fight it. Or at least I try to. His hand slaps over the marks his brother made and I go down yelping as he yanks my trousers right down to my knees then shoves my feet up so I’m on my back, knees bent over my stomach. He puts a hand on the side of my arse and tugs it open, all fucking open and exposed. I start swearing at him, feet flailing at a kick, and then he drops my legs in disgust.

“You are a _fucking_ bad liar Eames. Seriously.”

I just lay there, not even bothering to answer. Don’t even bother to pull my trousers up, just lay half curled on my side.

“Why would some rich old bastard want your arse anyway? He probably thinks you’ve got every disease going. Whores usually do. And don’t even think about trying to claim you’re not a whore, Eames, not when you’ve offered to put it out every damn day of your life.”

I still don’t answer, yeah, there’s nothing to fucking say. I can’t work out if he’s right anymore.

“Not putting out doesn’t make you less of a whore, it just makes you a fucking _bad_ whore.” He’s pissed now, probably because I almost got one over him, or maybe just because he can’t earn while my face is bruised and bleeding. “You’re a whore who can’t even succeed at properly _being_ a whore Eames, you’re fucking useless. I took you in, I gave you fucking _everything_ and all you are in return is a useless fucking cock-tease.” He starts laughing then, and that’s even worse, “And then, Eames, then you try and run away to find a sugar-daddy and you can’t even do _that_ right.” He reaches down and gives my arse a slap. “You need to learn to put out. Trust me. You’ll thank me for it. You’ll be _raking_ in the sugar-daddies then.”

He leaves then. And I’m staring at the wall, blinking back tears, and I just want to be back in bed with my Arthur.


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't leave on the cliffhanger of the last chapter, so here's the next one! Thanks for all the fantastic comments, they really do motivate me to write :)

**Arthur**

“Should we tell Cobb?” Ariadne asks, moving at a half jog to try and keep up with Arthur’s stride as he heads for the first place on their list, Marv’s main centre of operations.

Arthur shakes his head. He knows they should tell Cobb. He very much doesn’t want to.

“We should tell him…” Ariadne continues awkwardly.

“What good would that do?” Arthur snaps, “In a few hours time we’ll have Eames back with us, and Cobb never needs to know.”

“Unless Eames has … told Marv anything…” Ariadne looks at him anxiously. “I don’t mean he’ll have sold us out, but…”

She’s right, and Arthur can’t think of an answer. If their work has been compromised in any way Cobb needs to know. He remembers how quick Eames let Marv’s name slip when they first met him on the boat. All it would take would be a few words, a laughing conversation with an old friend, Eames wanting to show off his new life, anything. And of course, Arthur knows that Cobb will point out that they have no proof that Eames has been _kidnapped_ exactly. For all they know, Eames is bored of his new life, or has just decided to spend the night with friends.

But Arthur knows. He can’t say how he knows, but he _knows_.

The old building is empty, and nobody seems to be around, so they move onto their second address, a flat above a sex-shop in a grotty end of the city. Arthur feels his breath tighten as the door opens, and a young man a similar age to Eames looks at them flatly across a chain.

“Wot?”

“Is Marv in?”

“Why?”

“We need to speak to him. About Eames.”

The boy rolls his eyes and undoes the chain. “Wot did he do this time?”

Ariadne gives Arthur an unhappy look.

They climb is the stairs and the boy opens the door, introducing them as, “It’s some dude about Eames.”

Arthur feels his heart leap up as he sees Eames there in the room, sitting cross-legged on the floor and blowing on what smells distinctly like a joint. His face is a mess, bruised and bloodied, but he cracks his functioning eye open as they enter and it widens when he sees Arthur. For a moment there’s fear in his expression, and then a deep rush of relief that makes Arthur want to just run across and embrace him.

There are two other men in the room, a shabbily dressed Rastafarian crouched next to Eames and lighting his own joint, and a pissed off looking man with a receding hairline and a sheepskin jacket that Arthur assumes is Marv.

“Who the fuck are you.” Says probably-Marv, but he says it to Eames, who shrugs and waves the joint around vaguely.

Arthur hesitates for just a minute, not wanting to give his name if Marv doesn’t already know it. “Eames has been living with me for the last few days.” He finally says as a compromise, “I’d like that to continue.”

“Oh yeah?” The man’s accent is identical to Eames’s, but his voice is a few tones lower. “Well does he want that?”

“Yeah.” Eames mumbles from the side of the room, then falls silent when Marv turns to glare at him.

“Just fuck off.” Marv snaps at Arthur.

Arthur takes a breath and keeps his voice steady. “How much?”

Eames’s head knocks back against the wall and he mutters a little ‘shit’. Marv stares at Arthur. “You what?”

“How much? I want him.”

Marv is looking at Arthur with a calculating eye. Eames groans and staggers upright, leaning one hand against the wall and pinching out his joint before flicking it at the carpet. His face looks even worse when attached to a moving, functioning Eames.

“You really want him?” Marv sneers, folding his arms and watching as Eames staggers over to Arthur. “He’s a lazy slut.”

Eames leans on Arthur heavily and mutters, “Don’t give him any money.”

Marv’s eyebrows raise and he steps forward, stepping back as Arthur glares up at him and snapping, “Fucks sake I’m not his damn owner. He’s not a pet, even if you do treat him like one. He wants to go with you, he can go with you. Just don’t come running to me when he eats all your food and won’t put out.”

Eames won’t look at Arthur’s face.

“You’re being an idiot, Eames.” Marv calls after them as they leave, “And you know you’ll be back. You were before, remember?” Arthur turns, not sure if he wants to hit Marv or shoot him, and is met with a condescending smirk. “Oh yeah, good luck with it _Mister Arthur_. This isn’t the first time our Eames has fallen in love.”

Eames grips his wrist hard and the two of them stumble down the stairs.

 

**Eames**

I lay on the floor feeling shit for a bit, and then I tug my trousers up. It’s a fucking brothel after all, and lying around with my arse out is only going to give the wrong impression. Deap comes back to see me as it starts to get dark. He shuffles around a bit, then starts rolling up. He hands one over and, well, it’s free yeah? Besides, I doubt my Arthur’s going to come for me the very first day I’ve fucked off. Might as well settle in and just try and keep myself from getting fucked until he rushes in to save me.

If he does. I mean, I sorta know he will, but right now I’m just a bit of a mess. My face hurts, my body hurts, I’m terrified as all fuck I’m going to get dragged off to a dark room with a client. Why the hell shouldn’t I grab a joint?

Deap crouches next to me and gives me a nudge. He wants me to crack a smile, get back to joking, but I don’t. I push myself up and just sit there, smoking and watching the world go fuzzy at the edges and the pain fade away. Marv comes in, but thank fuck he’s got one of the boys with him, and he just bullies and snaps at this kid while me and Deap get high.

There’s a knock on the door, the kid goes to get it, and fuck me it’s my Arthur.

He’s here.

If I hadn’t been half baked I would’ve been out that room in a second. When Arthur arrived I wanted to be, fuck I dunno. Fighting, arguing, or maybe tied up in a basement all bruised and snarling defiantly. Not sat down having a smoke with Deap. He looks at me and I think he looks disappointed. Fuck I don’t know.

But he’s here. Oh god he’s here.

And he’s fantastic. All sneering and standing up to Marv, and with that look in his eyes. He offers to pay for me, daft idiot, I think I remember saying that to Ariadne at one point, fucking hell she took it seriously. But I can tell Marv isn’t going to get mixed up in this for any money. Oh no, he’s sussed Arthur out completely, seen he won’t use me, so he’s happy to let me go and wait for me to come back like a beaten dog, tail between my legs.

Fucker.

I get over to Arthur, I want to say something. Something significant, something proper, something to show him how much I appreciate it, yeah, that he came to get me so quick, and stood up for me. But I think if I speak I’ll throw up.

But it’s alright, because I know what I need to do now.

This time, I can’t wait until he gets bored of me, or suspicious of me, or chucks me out.

I need to make myself useless to Marv.

I need to get Arthur to fuck me.


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13 of 15, we are approaching an end here folks. The good news is I do have another Inception AU lined up for when this has finished ...

**Arthur**

He doesn’t blame Eames for getting high, not when he’s bruised and shaking, but it does make it a bit difficult to talk much when they get home. Arthur gently cleans Eames’s face and gives him food, then makes up the spare room. He doesn’t know what Eames has been through but he has a feeling that a separate bed might be the best idea for now.

Particularly while Eames is half-baked.

Arthur goes to bed and can’t sleep. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, but somehow it’s not a huge surprise when the door creaks open at midnight and Eames steps carefully into his room.

“Mister Arthur?”

Arthur scoots up in the bed and pulls the cover back so that Eames can climb in.

“That bed’s still cold.”

Eames worms under the sheets next to him. He isn’t cold but he is shivering, Arthur can’t work out what to say, can’t work out what’s wrong.

“Mister Arthur.” Eames whispers, “I – I think I’m ready.”

Arthur can feel his heartbeat skittering away against his chest. “Ready?”

“Yeah. For … ready.”

Eames rolls over and tries awkwardly to rub his backside against Arthur’s cock, and Arthur can’t remember the last time he felt less aroused while sharing a bed with Eames. He puts his hands on Eames’s hips and hears a little gasping intake of breath. Gently, he pushes the hips away.

“Eames, not tonight. You’ve been through a hell of a day, alright?”

“Mister Arthur, please, I gotta, I want – I want you to.”

“Eames, look at me.”

Eames shudders and his shoulders tighten.

“Eames, please. Listen. If you really want this we can to it tomorrow, alright? Just … not now.”

He hears a little sniffle, and then the back of Eames’s head nods.

Arthur knows he’s not going to do anything to Eames tomorrow morning, but hopefully in the light they can talk, and make a bit more sense of this. He gently wraps an arm around Eames’s body, and feels him trembling.

“Eames?”

Eames doesn’t look at him, he pushes himself out of the bed and mutters, “Yeah, maybe that bed isn’t so cold. I’ll see you in the morning, Mr. Arthur.”

He shuffles out of the bedroom, and Arthur watches helplessly as he goes.

 

**Eames**

Arthur sticks me in the spare room, and I can see why, but thing is I’m all screwed up thinking about what I have to do and I’d feel better with him close to me. Instead I’m stuck in a cold bed in a dark room all alone.

See the thing is, I’m scared as all fuck. I know it’ll hurt, I seen Marv’s boys after their first jobs. And, well, it’s the last thing, the last thing between me and being a slut. I’ve always been able to say, I’m not a whore because I’ve never got a dick in me. And now I’ll be losing that.

I almost bottle it. So I realise I’ve got to do something fast. I get out of the bed and head for my Arthur’s room. And I almost bottle it at the door again, I can feel sick at the back of my throat, but I push the door open and go for it.

He won’t though, he won’t do it and it screws me up inside. He doesn’t want to hurt me, and I don’t want him to hurt me, but fucking hell I need to do this. He wraps an arm around me but suddenly I don’t want to be near to him, not when I know what I’ve got to make him do. I scoot out, but I don’t want to lie in bed either. I make my way to the kitchen and grab a packet of crisps, then sit on the sofa in the dark.

About ten minutes later Arthur comes in as well. He doesn’t see me at first and I scoot down behind the sofa. He heats up a croissant, then stares at the microwave and says “shit”.

I dunno why. It’s a good microwave.

He comes to sit on the sofa, and jumps when he sees me. “Fuck – Eames.”

“’ello Mister Arthur.” I do the accent, but it sounds tired.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Nah.”

He sits on the sofa opposite me with his stupid flaky bread. For a while we just eat in silence. And then I tell him.

I tell him what Marv did to me; pulling my arse open to take a good look. I tell him how fucking scared it made me. I tell him about the second mark I ever did, back when I was young and daft and didn’t know how to do things properly. I tell him how I put too much of myself into that mark – went and fell for him. And he fell for me, except of course he fell for the person I created to make him fancy me. I tell him how Marv burst that one apart, how the man I’d fallen for called me a whore, how I saw his face twist up. I tell him how Marv became the only person who knew who I really was, and how my virginity became the only defence I had against him.

I talk a lot. He listens. His feet push forward across the sofa to mine and press against them. It’s the closest thing I can stand to a hug right now. I feel like I’m spilling my guts into his hands and then asking him to hold them safe for me. I think, I dunno, that I’ll feel better after telling him, but I just feel worse and I stare at the sofa after.

There’s a bit of silence for a while, and then I hear Arthur sniff a bit. Fucking hell. I look up in shock. I mean, it’s a pathetic story, but I’m not expecting him to shuffle forwards and wrap his arms around me and actually start fucking _crying_.

It makes me feel a bit better. Like it’s not just a stupid embarrassing story, maybe I’m not daft or weak for finding all of this shit impossible to deal with.

We just stay there for a bit, then he shifts on the sofa and I lie half on top of him, his arms still around me. He murmurs into my ear, “Eames we don’t have to do anything, _anything_ , until you’re absolutely ready.”

“Mister Arthur I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.” I just can’t see it. Can’t see how I’d ever want to do it. It’s all fucked up and mixed up with other shit.

“That’s fine, Eames, it won’t make me love you any less.”

Well he only went and said it. Jesus _fuck_.

He keeps talking as well, while my whole damn world keels over. “Don’t worry about Marv any more, either. I’ll get him sorted out Eames, he won’t bother you again.”

Hell the way he says it, it almost makes me feel sorry for Marv.

Almost, yeah, I don’t _actually_ feel sorry for the fucker.


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back at work after holidays, hence the slight gap since the last chapter! Just one chapter left (and then, my lovelies, I'll be moving onto a Silicon Valley Sugar Daddy AU for Arthur and Eames which I know at least three of you should enjoy :p )

**Arthur**

For the next few days Arthur feels every action around Eames is strangely delicate. They go back to sharing a bed, but it certainly isn't the wild wanton sex-fest it was when they first got together. Arthur is careful with everything he does, never initiating, always waiting. He can tell it's frustrating Eames a little, but he knows he'd much rather have Eames whining at him to go faster than an Eames who whimpers at him to go slower.

Eames starts getting on with Cobb, which is a surprise. Arthur wonders whether maybe he's appreciating having a boss who doesn't insist he sexually sell himself. Only one of the board members can be trapped through sex, so Eames suggests other traps for the remaining two. For one he dresses as an undercover journalist, making suggestive noises about having pictures of a previous affair that Arthur manages to find buried in the mans murky past. For the other, Eames pretends to be a lucrative investor. Ariadne gives him the correct words to say, the right bait to trap the man, and five seconds after a toast to success Cobb is moving in to start work on the unconscious body sprawled in a chair next to a half-drunk glass of champagne.

Eames is so proud, and it makes Arthur smile. That night, for the first time since Eames was kidnapped, he fucks Arthur again.

And then there's the third man, who really does want a bit of rough to hang out with. Eames greases his hair up and sticks on a ripped pair of jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He carefully tucks a cigarette packet into one rolled-up sleeve, then runs fingers back through his hair and gives Arthur a little grin and a wink.

"Bit dangerous, huh?"

"Are you going to be alright?" Arthur asks frankly.

Eames rolls his eyes, comes over and gently presses a fist under Arthur's jaw. "You fink I can't look after myself, yeah?" his accent is strong, he's already falling into the role.

Arthur gently kisses his fist. "Eames. If you get this right, I'll spank you again."

Something deep and lustful flares up in Eames's eyes.

Arthur watches him go, with eyes that are fixed rather strongly on Eames's arse. He's just contemplating whether to follow and watch or scoot off home to try and find the hairbrush, when he gets a text from Yusuf.

<Got him. Now or never. Police will be there in five minutes.>

Arthur blinks, then swears and runs back to the car.

 

**Eames**

It's fucking weird after that night, and it doesn't stop being weird. Arthur's got a sudden idea in his head that I'm going to fucking _break_ , yeah, and it makes me feel good in some ways. Don't get me wrong, I miss all the kinky sex, but it's sorta nice to be treated like a delicate little virgin for a bit.

I never got treated like that before.

Cobb turns out to be an alright bloke, and I start sucking up to him a bit because he's the only one that doesn't know what happened. Yusuf, the drugs guy, he gets told so that him and Ariadne can cook up some scheme to get Marv off my back. Ariadne's all big concerned eyes for me now, but Cobb is fucking oblivious. Which is nice. Also as far as he's concerned wriggling my arse around isn't even a job, so he gets me doing more acting that isn't sex, which is fucking fantastic. I get to pretend to be a newspaper hack, and a rich poncy lad, and it just all comes so naturally I think I missed my calling.

But of course I've still got to jump back to whore-mode for some shit, and Arthur practically gets a stiffy on the spot when he sees me all dolled up in the YMCA gear, ready to pick up this bloke on the Common. The Common is where all the daft closeted gays meet up for a shag, so that's where I'm headed. Arthur promises to get back to the kinky stuff afterwards, and at first I'm not too sure how I feel about that. I mean it would be fucking fantastic, but I don't really like that it was me going full-slut that got him in the mood for it.

Got to admit though, after getting felt up by a bald old fucker behind a bush for ten minutes I don't particularly care why Arthur wants to get rough anymore. I just want to go back to his place and get his hands back on me, but when I get home the bastard isn't there.

After he got me all worked up as well.

I stay in my sweaty gear for about half an hour then give up and shower. I stick on his robe and laze on the sofa, feeling a bit abandoned. It's fucking three in the morning when he waltzes in, and I give him a bit of a pout to hide how scared I got.

"Where the fuck have you been."

"Sorry, Eames, something came up and -"

"What about my spanking, huh?"

He gives me a look. Usually I can read him like a book, but this one is all weird and searching and deep, and then he comes over and pops a ring in my palm.

Not like _that_. As if. No. This ring isn't for me. 

It's Marvs.

He wears it on his little finger, just below the knuckle. Never seen him without it.

I look over Arthur properly. His clothes are mussed, torn, no blood though. His hair's a state, got a bit of a bruise forming over one eye. I feel my heart jump into my throat. I stare at the ring and croak, "Is he ..."

"Arrested."

I want to scream at him. Arrested isn't enough, not if they can't prove coercion, he'll fucking walk.

Arthur looks at me steadily, "Arrested for possession and sale of class A drugs."

I gape at him a bit. Marv's never touched anything stronger than weed in his life. Fucking hell Yusuf.

"You set him up?" I manage. My voice is croaky as hell.

"We set him up." Arthur's fingers slide under my chin, lift it so I have to look at him. "Set him up, called the police, then I made sure he didn't try and run. I might've had to hit him a few times."

See my Arthur's a criminal. I clocked that, obviously, but I don't think I ever considered before that he's actually quite a dangerous man.

"Do you still want a spanking?"

I shake my head dumbly, and he softens just a little.

"Spare room?"

I shake my head again, and then find my voice, "Nah ... I - I want to be close to you, yeah?"

He knows what I mean. His arms wrap around me and hug me gently. And I try to fit it into my head that Marv is _gone_ , that he won't be in my world anymore, that I won't ever have to see him, or speak to him, or worry about him again.

We don't have sex that night, but I lay there next to my Mister Arthur and just watch his chest going up and down as he breathes. He's maybe not a good man. He's a liar, and a cheater, and a criminal. But he's good to me. And I trust him, I do, it hits me a bit weird because I don't think I ever trusted anyone before. I trust him not to hurt me. I trust him to look after me. I trust him enough to tell him all the fucked up shit in my life, and I trust him enough to want to hear all the fucked up shit in his.

And I think, somewhere inside, that's when I start to realise what 'ready' means. And I think maybe, with Mister Arthur, one day I will be ready for it.


	15. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Mostly smut, with a little twist at the end.

**Arthur**

It’s doesn’t happen instantly, but somehow it happens piece by piece in a way that Arthur doesn’t realise until suddenly the whole picture is there in front of him.

Eames talks to him, drowsily in bed, tells him about past clients and past mistakes, and although Arthur is clearly no qualified therapist somehow that’s one little piece.

Cobb snaps at Ariadne, exasperated, “Stop trying to damn _seduce_ everyone. It’s not reliable, it’s not workable. Focus on the clients and find other ways to trap them. Eames can act anything.”

That’s another piece.

Eames starts paying half the rent. Eames starts saving up. Arthur laughs one day, joking, “Almost got enough to rent your own place now, stop stealing all my takeaways.”

That’s another piece, he realises later, Eames has the economic independence he’s never been allowed before.

They cuddle, and fuck, and sleep together all in a heap. They bicker about the TV channels, and eat together on the sofa. They get stupidly drunk together at clubs and Eames flirts with other men but always comes home with Arthur.

Eames asks Cobb, when he thinks Arthur can’t hear, “If I split with Arthur, would I lose my job?” and Cobb is busy with about three phone calls and snaps back “If you split with Arthur you’ll get promoted.”

All little pieces, all connecting together, and Arthur doesn’t realise what a difference it’s made, how much it’s helped Eames settle and calm and sort himself out. He doesn’t realise until it suddenly comes out of the blue, when they’re sitting on the sofa watching a random documentary about Paris.

“Mister Arthur?”

“Hmm?” The ‘mister’ usually implies sex is on the way.

“Mister Arthur … I’m ready…”

Arthur almost asks _ready for what_ but he realises if he does Eames will, to use his own phrase, ‘completely bottle it’. Instead he just replies gravely, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Eames’s feet press against his, and Eames looks up at him with cheeky and excited eyes.

Arthur looks back and feels a sudden rush of adrenaline. Eames’s first time – and he has to make it good, and comfortable, and mind-blowing, and not break the careful little oasis of calm and sanity that Eames has built around himself.

“With me?”

Eames stares at him and then tips his head back to stare at the ceiling. “No. With Cobb. I want you to introduce us and hand him a condom. Fucking _yes_ with you, Arthur you daft prick.”

And Arthur can’t stop the stupid grin from spreading across his face.

 

**Eames**

He takes me to the bathroom first, turns on the shower and we both strip and step in. For a moment I wonder whether we’re going to actually do it in the shower, but it seems to be just for a wash down.

He rubs soap all over me, he’s got this cute smile on, I suppose really this is what he’s been waiting for since he first bought me home. Fucking long time ago that. Feels like a long time anyway. I start to get all tense a bit actually, thinking about it, and how young and daft I was and it wasn’t that long ago. His hands start sliding all over my arse, calms me down a bit, and then they rub right in between, all over the tight little entrance where his dick is headed and fuck me that feels good.

I lean against him and moan a bit. Get my hands over his arse and give it a good squeezing while he rubs and prods and teases. It’s probably mostly to make sure I’m all clean, although lord knows we’ve never been so fussy with his, but it is also a massive fucking turn on.

He gets a bit of a finger up there, god it feels weird. Good though. Good and odd. I dig my nails into his arse and his cock jumps up against my thigh. He’s a kinky bugger is my Mister Arthur.

He teases a while more, then I think he realises I’m coming a bit too close to shooting off, so we get out and towel each other down. I neck him for a bit and whisper a load of dirty stuff, “Oh gonna fuck me Mister Arthur, gonna take my tight little arse for the first time, dick it till I can’t stand straight” all that till he’s blushing red and hard and eager. He gives me a swat towards the bedroom and I start feeling a bit nervous again soon as we get to the bed.

Arthur strokes my shoulders. “Lie down.”

I lie on my front. It seems easiest that way. Also it feels a bit less exposed and I can cling onto the pillow if I want. Pillow smells of Arthur so I do a bit of clinging as I watch him take out the lube and grease his fingers up.

Fuck.

My heart's jumping all everywhere. I’m pretty sure my arse is tighter than it’s ever been. He props my hips up, strokes my bum, murmurs a few dirty words of his own, except they’re not _dirty_ dirty, more like “Beautiful thing, you’re a gorgeous man Eames, I want you to feel amazing” all that sort of shite. Mmmm. Feels good.

He gets his fingers rubbing and teasing again, dipping down over the bullseye, heh, now that does feel good. Even nowadays, if I’m not in the mood for a dicking, I still like him playing and teasing with that little bit of me. And he keeps at it like a champ, even though I can tell his cock just wants to dive in. He rubs and pokes and prods and slides and teases until I’m a little pile of moaning goo on the bed.

Then he reaches over to the bedside drawer and gets a fucking arse-plug out. Seriously. I just loose it then, burst out laughing all over the pillows and we have to stop for a bit while I get it together.

“Seriously Arthur, where the _fuck_ did you buy that?”

“Eames I’m a thirty year old man who’s been single for the past five years. Did you honestly think I had no sex toys?”

“Oh my fucking god I hope you washed it.”

“Of course I did.”

“You’re a dirty slag you are.”

“You’re a beautiful, crazy, wonderful creature Eames.”

Well that shuts me up.

I stop laughing and lie back down and he starts rubbing that damn arse-toy-thing all over between my bum, sliding it around, yeah, yeah, he’s almost too gentle. Until it goes in. Then I fucking squawk and he stops.

“You alright?”

“You’ve just shoved a fucking _toy_ in my _arse_ you perverted maniac.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Fucking hell he’s hot is my Arthur. He goes a bit slower but he still pushes it right the way in. It feels weird as all hell. Not painful, but not comfortable either, in fact honestly, really honestly, it just feels like a turd going the wrong way.

He goes back to rubbing and kneading my arse until it stops feeling uncomfortable and just sorta feels like it’s sitting there. He nibbles and kisses my ear because he knows that’s a spot that drives me nuts, and pretty soon, yeah I’m stroking my pillow instead of grabbing it and all moaning his name and yeah … feeling ready.

He slides out the toy, ah fuck I giggle again because I still can’t get over him owning it. Like a bored middle-aged housewife he is. Then he greases himself up, no condom thank you Yusuf and your mate at the clinic, gives my arse a last squeeze and starts moving in.

Fuck…

Fucking hell….

God it’s rough at first. My poor pillow gets another mauling. He stops when he’s in and I gasp and manage to croak out, “People do this for fun?”

“Shhh…” he strokes my hair. “Just wait.”

“Fucking sadistic bastard fucker.” I mutter but he knows that’s just what I say, say it when he whacks my arse as well, he knows I’m loopy about him really. And the burning stinging starts to fade a bit as he just waits, like a lump inside me. My breathing calms down a bit, he kisses and strokes me, then I make a little noise like yeah, go for it.

Then he moves.

Fucking world moves with him.

Jesus Christ on a _bike_.

I don’t last long. It’s my first time and Arthur damn well knows what he’s doing. We get a good few minutes out of it though, him thrusting slow, then fast when I start humping my arse up to meet him and the rhythms hopelessly out and I think I fucking _rip_ my pillow and Arthur’s yelling out my name, he’s a fucking screamer that one, and then the world goes fucking _white_ and yeah OK I get what all the fuss is about.

He holds me after, because I get a bit sniffly and shaky and a little part of me feels like something a bit precious in me just got broken. Fucking Marv, yeah, he’s still in there, in my head, even if he is now safe behind bars. It’ll take a while till I’m rid of him completely but fuck him, because I’ve got time. Got all the time I need.

I sleep well that night, fucking well knocked out, and when I wake the next morning my Arthur’s still there. I can wrap my arms around him and get another cuddle. I kiss him all over, and he murmurs, “Was that OK?” Silly daft sod like it wasn’t the best time ever.

And that’s the first time.

And, well, that’s sort of it, isn’t it? There you go. That’s the story of me and Mister Arthur. That’s where we came from, that’s how it started.

That’s where we’re going.

Alright Cobb? So don’t worry, yeah? Your goddam ex-boyfriend is in safe hands, OK?

I know I’m not very trustworthy. But you can trust me with this.

You can trust me with Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S FINISHED! Thank you so, so much to all the readers and commenters. You guys have made my life EPIC for the last couple of weeks, seriously you should see the size of my ego now :) I'm really glad you all enjoyed this, when my random musings about a piece of fanart blew up into a 15-chaptered piece.
> 
> And I'm properly in Inception Writing Mood so there will be another Arthur/Eames coming out, probably starting next week. It'll be written a bit slower now I'm back at work, but it should still be updated nice and regularly. I'll be sticking with the split POV since that worked so well last time. There's another age difference :p It's a Silicon Valley Sugar Daddy AU; a lazy college student who picks up free electronics and gadgets by sleeping with the CEO of a massive tech company. The only difference and, really, I hope you won't mind the difference, is that this time Arthur is the young, bratty, 20-year old student, while Eames is the older, savvy company owner...


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